


au bar des suicidés

by crimsvn



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Break Up, Dialogue Light, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Letters, Lots of Angst, M/M, Memories, Sort Of, Time Skips, this gonna be SAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsvn/pseuds/crimsvn
Summary: Dear George,I hope you’re better now, wherever you are. If you’re out there.I still love you, George. I always will.Forever yours,Dream-Some may say that all love ends in heartbreak, and Dream was inclined to agree—though as time passed since George's disappearance, since him leaving without so much as a goodbye, Dream begins to think it may have never been love in the first place.(A series of letters and memories about a love now lost.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 96





	au bar des suicidés

**Author's Note:**

> i was originally going to make this a song fic but the song is in french and i didn't feel like having to translate the lyrics LOL 
> 
> anyways listen to au bar des suicidés by pierre lapointe

_It was late at night, but Dream couldn’t be more awake._

_He was hyperaware of his boyfriend’s presence leaning up against him, shifting every time he gestured, sloshing his drink around viciously as he told varying stories to their friends. Dream was watching him fondly, surveying each movement with nothing but admiration and love in his heart. His ears were ringing with the bumping of the club’s music, the bass of each song overwhelming._

_“—Dream. Dream! You there?”_

_Karl is snapping his fingers in Dream’s face. Dream blinks, suddenly torn from his thoughts. He takes a glance around the table to see each of his friends staring at him expectantly. He looks to George, who is giving him puppy dog eyes, begging._

_“What? Sorry, I zoned out,” he admits sheepishly. The tips of his ears burned, and Dream might say that he was blushing if it weren’t for the fact that he was certain his face had already been flushed pink from the alcohol. He felt warm._

_George nudges him. “I asked if you wanted to go dance.”_

_“Oh,” Dream says dumbly. He clears his throat. “I don’t know, George. I’m not—you know I don’t like dancing.”_

_His boyfriend pouts, planting his chin on Dream’s shoulder. “C’_ mon, _Dream,” he whines. “You’re no fun.”_

_Their friends had returned to chatter amongst themselves, and suddenly Dream and George are left to their own little world. George studies his face, batting his eyelashes, as if pleading for Dream’s change of heart. Unfortunately George knew him all too well—George’s eyes were his absolute weakness. They could persuade him to do almost anything on a whim._

_Dream sighs. “Alright. Just for a bit though, okay?”_

_George completely lights up at Dream’s cave-in, already sliding his way out of the booth. He grabs Dream by the arm and drags him to the dance floor._

_Dream was reluctant at first, but once George takes his hands and holds them to his waist, Dream starts to lose himself in the music. The beat. George. It was almost as if nothing else existed except for them, and Dream liked it that way._

_There’s a moment where he can hear their friends whooping and hollering from the booth, cheering them on, but Dream elected to ignore it. What a bunch of idiots—_ his _bunch of idiots, but idiots nonetheless. Life was good, and Dream wouldn’t have it any other way._

_By three songs in there is little space between them, George’s ear pressed against Dream’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. Dream buries his nose in George’s hair._

_“Love you,” George mumbles into his shirt, and Dream nearly doesn’t catch the utterance._

_Dream hums, the sound reverberating in his throat. Or maybe that was the music, he wasn’t sure. Everything was blending together. “Love you, too,” he says, and Dream is_ happy.

* * *

Dear George,

I still think about us, all that time ago in the club.

The night is so clear and so blurry all at once, but all I need to remember is _you._

Maybe it’s dumb that that’s what I care about. Sappy. I hope you don’t mind. Not that you’d ever read this. I don’t expect you’d want to even if you _were_ back in my life. You were never one for the cheesy stuff. I don’t blame you.

I miss us. I miss you. What I wouldn’t do to dance with you again, just once more like that night.

What I wouldn’t do.

With love,

Dream

* * *

_It was nearing three in the morning, and George and Dream lay curled up on the couch, a film quietly playing on the television. The volume is low, nearly inaudible, overtaken by the sound of the rain pattering on the windows. It was peaceful._

_George was slowly drifting off to sleep, his face hidden in the crook of Dream’s neck. His breath is warm on Dream’s skin, light. Dream gently cards his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. He, too, was starting to nod off, but the only thing that prevented him from succumbing to his fatigue was the knowledge that sleeping in that position would surely leave a crick in his neck when he woke up._

_It doesn’t take very long before Dream can hear soft snores emitting from George. He was asleep, then—which was good. He needed his rest, and so did Dream._

_Carefully, Dream manoeuvres around George to grab the remote off the the coffee table and shut the TV off. He slips out from under George before sliding his arms under his boyfriend’s sleeping form and lifting him from the sofa._

_He carries him to their bedroom and tenderly lays him on the bed. They’re both already dressed in their pyjamas, so Dream simply pulls the covers over George and plants a gentle kiss to his temple, before moving to his respective side of the bed._

_Dream is climbing under the duvet, settling into the mattress and getting himself comfortable when he hears a hushed,_ “Dream?”

_Dream flips over to face George. His eyelids are drooping, obviously overcome with sleep, but he’s conscious. There’s a melancholy look on his face._

_“Yes, George?”_

_“D’you think we’ll be together forever?” George asks, and Dream furrows his brow. George’s voice is tired, as if the question had been a burden on his mind for quite some time now._

_“Of course we will, George,” Dream tells him, and his tone is nothing but sincere. He means it. He_ wants _it to be true. He loved George._

_A soft, albeit sad smile grows on George’s lips. “Good to know,” is all George says._

_Dream leans forward to place a kiss on George’s nose. “Goodnight, George,” he whispers._

* * *

George,

I guess looking back on that night, I should have figured something was wrong. Who asks that sort of thing, George? Of course we would have stayed together.Of _course_ , George.

I meant to ask you why you would ask that, in the morning, but by the time I had gathered the courage I had forgotten all about it. We went back to being the happy couple we always were. That downcast smile disappeared like it had never existed in the first place.

I sometimes wonder to myself how I hadn’t noticed something was wrong. Looking back, it was so incredibly obvious.

I’m sorry, George.

I guess my answer to your question was dishonest. I guess we weren’t meant to stay together.

Wherever you have gone.

Love,

Dream

* * *

_It was their third anniversary. Sometimes it was hard to believe that they had really been together that long. Their time together had flown by so fast, but Dream could not complain._

_It was three_ happy _years with George. There was nothing_ to _complain about._

_For their date, Dream had decided to bring George to the carnival that just so happened to always been in town just in time for their anniversary. Of course, they hadn’t actually gone before just as a couple. It was always with a group of friends. Just something to do when they wanted to hang out. But this year, this year was different. Dream made sure of it._

_They were both competitive by nature, so they had made a bet to see who could win the other more prizes from the rigged booths. The loser had to pay for their next date, was the wager._

_They waste a lot of money that night. They spent much more than they probably should have, but it was all worth it in the end, Dream liked to think. George’s smile had been consistently bright throughout the night, which meant Dream would be grinning ear-to-ear himself up until his cheeks were too sore to hold it any longer. George had that effect on him._

_Dream ends up winning the bet by the skin of his teeth, but they end up giving away most of the stuffed animals to children that passed by with a wondrous look, wishing they could be the ones with Dream and George’s collection. They hand out all but one—it’s a smaller plushie; a cat that’s an ugly orangish-yellow colour and very poorly stitched together. There’s just a hint of the white stuffing leaking out from under one of its arms, and both Dream and George have to agree that they absolutely love the horrid thing._

_Their last adventure of the night, as per planned from the beginning, was to be the ferris wheel. The sun is setting, and the colourful lights of all the attractions begin to glow more vibrantly against the sky. It was very pretty (“Just like you,” Dream had said, to which George had rolled his eyes)._

_They give their tickets to the ride operator and step into a carriage, and wait for the ride to begin moving. It revolves around once, twice, and then people are being let off again, but George and Dream are stuck at the top._

_There’s a light breeze that passes, faintly swinging the chair. George leans his head on Dream’s shoulder as they look out onto the carnival. The hideous cat sits between them, treated almost as if it were their child._

_Dream takes George’s hands. “Now, I can’t exactly_ kneel _in this thing,” he starts, nerves alight. Butterflies flutter around his stomach._

_George appears confused, at first, but then Dream pulls a small velvet box from his jacket pocket, placing it in George’s hands. Dream takes a shaky breath that’s meant to calm himself, but to no avail._

_“I’ve been in love with you for so,_ so _long, I thought it was finally time to put a ring on it,” Dream jokes, though it’s more for his own sake. “George, will you marry me?”_

_George stares at him in disbelief for what felt like an eternity. Dream could feel his heartbeat in his throat as he waited for an answer. A smile threatens George’s face._

_“Of course I will, you dimwit.” George laughs. “I’m just peeved you beat me to it.”_

* * *

To George,

I am almost certain you thought I had thrown it out, but did you know that I still keep that stupid cat with me?

It is quite possibly the worst thing to exist, but it reminds me of you. The night we got engaged. So many happy memories just from a dumb little stuffy that was falling apart the moment you chose it from the shelf. I keep it on the windowsill, where I can always see it. It’s unsightly, and I get shit for it, but I don’t care.

Sometimes I think it’s childish, though, just like we were.

Sometimes I wonder if you left because everything was too overwhelming, because everything happened so fast when we were so young. Not that I will ever know.

Did you ever regret saying yes?

Dream

* * *

_It was a Tuesday, just like any other. Dream just so happened to have to work overtime at his job—by three hours, more specifically. He was worn out, and home late, but the day was finally over. He slips off his shoes and hangs up his jacket, dragging himself to the kitchen half asleep._

_George is waiting at the table, a stern expression etched onto his face. He looks unimpressed, following Dream’s every move. Dream felt scrutinized as he rummaged through the fridge._

_“Sorry I’m home late,” Dream apologizes. “My boss asked me to stay late to get some paperwork done. It was time sensitive, apparently. Time consuming, too.”_

_George is scowling. “You didn’t text me. It was three hours later than I expected you to be home. I thought something happened to you.”_

_Dream drops his shoulders and shuts the fridge, turning to face George. “It’s not that big a deal, George. I’m home now, aren’t I?”_

_George leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Three hours is a long time to not know where you are, Dream. I don’t expect you to update me with your every move, but when you don’t come home from work when you usually do, when you_ consistently have _for the past few years, I think I have the right to be a bit worried!”_

_Dream rolls his eyes. “Shit happens, George, alright? I can handle myself anyways, stop worrying. You’re overreacting.”_

_“You are unbelievable,” George scoffs and pushes away from the table. “You know what? I’m going to stay over at Bad’s tonight, if you’re going to be such an asshole about it.”_

_“George—“_

_George shakes his head. “No, Dream. Maybe put yourselves in my shoes for once, next time.”_

_George is quick to pack an overnight bag and storm out without another word to his fiancé._

_The thing is, though, that Dream doesn’t even bother trying to stop him. He couldn’t. He was more stunned at the fact that, not only was it their first_ real _fight, but that George had simply… left. He hadn’t banished Dream to the couch like when they usually fought. He_ left.

_Dream abandons the idea of food once the door slams shut behind George on his way out. He goes through the motions of getting ready for bed like a zombie, hauling himself around with a cloud of misery hanging over his head._

_He doesn’t get a wink of sleep that night._

* * *

George,

I remember our first real fight. It was stupid, now that I think about it. _Really stupid._

I don’t know why I let you walk out that night. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that. I shouldn’t have argued. You were right to be worried.

I didn’t forgive myself for a long time after that, even when everything seemed to return to normal. I beat myself up about it. I regret never apologizing, when that’s exactly what you deserved. An apology.

But even words spat at me with such animosity I miss so dearly. I would do anything to have you back in my life, even if it meant you would hate me with every fibre of your being. It would be enough.

Anything would be enough, at this point.

Yours,

Dream

* * *

_George had been less than responsive as of late, and Dream didn’t blame him._

_His mother had been recently hospitalized, diagnosed with stage four skin cancer. They had discovered it too late, the cancer having spread much further than what was manageable—her chances of survival were low, and George had nearly worried himself sick with concern and stress._

_Dream had done his best to take his fiancé’s mind off things, treating him to dates and gifts every so often. Anything to distract him. It had worked at first, but as George’s mother’s cancer worsened, he became more and more reserved as time went on. He grew emotionally distant, which was not in any way George’s fault, but it was heartbreaking._

_There had been a period time where her treatment had started to take a turn for the better, and that had been the first time in a long time that Dream had seen George smile. But good things never last, do they?_

_His mother’s condition deteriorated to a state that was undoubtedly unrepairable. George pushed Dream away, along with any attempt to lift his spirits. He eats and sleeps less, his life becoming a continuous cycle of work, hospital, home. It made Dream sad to watch as George slowly broke down._

_Sometimes, late at night, Dream can hear George quietly sobbing when he thinks Dream is asleep. It upset Dream to only be able to stand by and watch George in pain, unable to help in any way. He felt useless. Like he should be trying harder, like he wasn’t trying hard_ enough.

_Dream thought he had tried nearly everything under the sun to help George, but nothing came close to being enough. It was an impossible task. Fruitless. George was practically in mourning already. Dream recalls seeing pamphlets for funeral homes on the table, once._

_But, in a way, on a much deeper, subconscious level, Dream understood. It was George’s mother. He had every right to be in such a terrible mood. Such an important part of his life was gradually being taken away by incurable disease._

_Death was inevitable, sure, but life needn’t be so cruel as to bring it into George’s life so soon._

* * *

Dear George,

I wish you had told me what I could have done for you. What you wanted. What you wanted me to do. I know you were hurting. I wish I could have done so much more for you. It pained me to see you like that.

Life is fucked up, isn’t it? It’s evil. Unforgiving. It throws you curveballs and expects you to handle each of them on your own. It has a funny way of throwing a wrench into every one of your plans, doesn’t it?

I hope you’re better now, wherever you are. If you’re out there.

I still love you, George. I always will.

Forever yours,

Dream

* * *

Dream sets his pen down, signalling the finish of another letter to George. He folds it and tucks it into an envelope, and sets it aside. Dream runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

It had nearly been a year since George’s disappearance. He had up and left one day while Dream was at work, not leaving so much as a note behind. Dream had called each of his friends asking if any of them had heard anything from George, but it had been radio silence for them as well. He would have called George’s family, but following the recent death in their family at the time, he couldn’t bring himself to do it until it was much too late.

He had filed a missing person’s report two weeks after his fiancé’s disappearance, but nothing ended up coming from it. George was gone, or worse—Dream shakes his head of the thought. He didn’t even want to consider the other possibility. He refused to believe it an option.

Dream glances out the window, watching as rain drops appear and slither their way down the glass. It was a dreary day to match his mood. He never felt too great most days anymore, anyways.

He looks at the stack of envelopes that had collected over the past few months. It was a way of coping, Dream supposed, but a pretty shitty one at that. If he had wanted to get over George more effectively, he would have gone to visit a therapist. If he was smart.

In a way, though, he thinks the letters _did_ help him move on. The writing let him forgive himself, finally, after all this time. He thinks he had finally forgiven himself for the blame he carried on his shoulders. He thinks that he had forgiven George, and with those last words he wrote to George, the ink was his last release of the anger George caused him.

One year later, and at long last he’s moved on.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope i made you feel things. like maybe sadness idk
> 
> \+ wanted to let you all know that i am 100% open to prompts if ever you want to request something! my ideas run thin
> 
> ++ thanks for reading <3 & also here's my [tumblr](https://criimsvn.tumblr.com/)!!


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